Easy by Tammara Webber Page B

door into the crisp fall air, I sucked in a deep
breath. Agenda: Spanish class, lunch, Starbucks.
     
    Erin:  How’d OBBP go?
    Me:  Got him to tell me his name. Went back to my seat. Didn’t look at him again.
    Erin:  Perfect. Meet you after next class for more strategizing before coffee. ;)
     
    ***
    When Erin and I joined the line at the Starbucks, I didn’t see Lucas.
    “Rats.” She craned
her neck, making sure he wasn’t one of the people behind the counter. “He was
here last Monday, right?”
    I shrugged. “Yeah,
but his work schedule is probably unpredictable.”
    She elbowed me
lightly. “Not so much. That’s him there, right?”
    He came through a
door to the back with an industrial-sized bag of coffee. My physical reaction
to him was unnerving. It was as though my insides all clenched up at the sight
of him, and when they unwound, everything restarted at once—my heart rate
accelerating, lungs pumping air, brainwaves running amok.
    “Ooh, J, he’s got ink ,
too,” Erin murmured appreciatively. “Just when I didn’t think he could get any
hotter...”
    My eyes fell to
his forearms, flexing as he sliced the bag open. Tattooed designs wrapped
around his wrists, contiguous symbols and script running up both arms and
disappearing into the sleeves of the gray knit shirt, which were shoved above
his elbows. I’d never seen him without his sleeves pulled to the wrists. Even
Saturday night, he’d worn long sleeves—a faded black button-down, open over a
white t-shirt.
    I’d never been
attracted to guys with tattoos. The notion of needles injecting ink under the skin
and the confidence of making permanent imprints of words and symbols was
foreign to me. Now, I wondered how far the tattoos spread—just the sleeves of
his arms? His back? His chest?
    Erin tugged my arm
as the line moved forward. “You’re botching our carefully crafted indifferent act, by the way. Not that I can blame you.” She sighed. “Maybe we should bail
now before he—”
    I glanced at her
when she fell silent, and watched a devious smile cross her face as she turned
to me.
    “Keep looking at
me,” she said, laughing as though we were having an amusing conversation. “He’s
staring at you. And I mean staring . That boy is undressing you with his
eyes. Can you feel it?” Her expression was triumphant.
    Could I feel his
stare? I can now, thanks, I thought. My face heated.
    “Oh, my God,
you’re blushing,” she whispered, her dark eyes widening.
    “No shit.” My
teeth were clenched, voice tight. “Stop telling me he’s—he’s—”
    “Undressing you
with his eyes?” She laughed again and I’d never wanted to kick her more. “Okay,
okay—but J, do not worry. You’ve got this. I don’t know what you’ve done
to him, but he’s ready to sit up and beg. Trust me.” She glanced in his
direction. “Okay, he’s starting a new batch of coffee now. You can do your own
staring.”
    We stepped closer;
there were only two people in front of us. I watched Lucas replace the filter,
measure out the coffee, and set the controls. His green apron was haphazardly secured
in the back—more of a knot than a bow. The ties drew my eyes to his hips in his
worn, low-slung jeans, one pocket holding a wallet to which a loose chain was
attached. It disappeared under the apron, linking to a front belt loop, no
doubt.
    He turned then,
eyes on the second register as he punched buttons and brought it to life. I
wondered if he planned to ignore me as I had him during class. It would serve
me right, playing this game. Just as the guy in front of me began his detailed
drink order to the girl at the first register, Lucas’s gaze swung up to meet
mine. “Next?” The steel gray of his shirt set off the gray in his eyes, the
blue disappearing. “Jacqueline.” He greeted me with a smirk, and I worried that
he could read my mind, and the devious plans Erin had implanted in it. “Americano
today, or something else?”
    He remembered